


Duck Duck Goose

by khilari



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen, a little gore but not descriptive gore, some bad guys die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-01-23 17:12:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12512248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khilari/pseuds/khilari
Summary: Little fics about Gladstone.





	1. Crying Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all of Gladstone's emergencies are real.

As a child Donald’s the one that falls down the most, always sporting scraped knees and scuffed feathers, but he’s also the one who picks everyone else up.

When Della falls out of a tree or Fethry lifts unknown red berries to his bill, Donald’s the one running over to them with an anxious quack and a shouted plea to not do that again. Not when it’s Gladstone, though. Gladstone is always and perpetually all right, not even Donald worries about him.

So, maybe Gladstone lies still a little too long when he falls off his bike. Maybe he waits just long enough for an anxious quack and small hands pulling him up before laughing it off. He’s fine, see? Just fine. He’s not doing it to upset Donald, after all.

He’s not introspective enough to wonder why he is doing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Donald just didn't seem surprised to arrive at the casino and find Gladstone apparently fine. I had to wonder why.


	2. A Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dewey asks Gladstone about Della.

‘Heya, Gladstone Gander talking. What’d I win?”

‘An all expenses paid talk with your nephew?’

‘Dewdrop! Wasn’t expecting to hear from you. How’s it hanging?’

‘Okay. Look, if I ask you something, will you not tell Uncle Donald I asked?’

‘Well, sure. What’s eating you?’

‘What happened to Mom?’

‘O-oh. Heavy stuff, huh? What makes you think I know?’

‘Why _wouldn’t_ you know? You knew her, right? And you’re an adult.’

‘Try telling that to Scroogey and D sometime.’

‘…You really don’t know?’

‘Nope. Nada. Great hearing from you, Blueberry, but…’

‘No, wait, you’ve got to know _something_. You were around back then! What… what was going on when she vanished? Where was Uncle Donald? And Scrooge?’

‘On another adventure or something. You guys were still eggs, so she’d left you with Grandma for a few days.’

‘…A few days.’

‘Yeah. Huh. Guess that lasted a bit longer… sure you wanna do this? You won’t learn much.’

‘Yeah. I’m sure.’

‘Okay. Okay. Uncle Scrooge and Don came back and… I dunno. I don’t know if they’d come back together and she left again, or came back without her, or she and Scrub McDub went off again and only he came back. No one would talk about it. Or her. One minute she’s off on one last adventure before motherhood, next it’s like she never existed. Wasn’t even a funeral. Memorial service?’

‘You think she’s dead?’

‘I don’t know, Dew. I don’t think she _wanted_ to be gone. And D-squad was _shattered_ , but he never tried to find her, so if she’s not dead something really bad… uh, no, don’t cry, don’t cry…’

‘It’s okay. Thanks for telling me. You won’t tell Uncle Donald I asked?’

‘If I tell him about this conversation he’ll kill me. My luck would probably see me through, but why risk it?’

‘Yeah. Thanks, Uncle Gladstone.’

‘No prob. Call again any time, kid.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dewey has to try talking to Gladstone about this at some point, right?


	3. Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's pretty mad at Gladstone after the mess with Liu Hai. He's used to it from Donald, but not the kids.

Donald is wandering back to the living room after helping Grandma clear away the meal and wash the dishes when he catches sight of Gladstone sitting on the edge of the porch, staring up at the moon. He’s shivering slightly and Donald hesitates, because it’s _Gladstone_ who is almost certainly immune to colds, then grabs Gladstone’s coat and carries it outside. Gladstone huddles into it like a blanket when Donald drops it over his shoulders, rather than putting it on properly, and Donald sighs. They’re doing _this_ then.

‘Go inside and get some sleep,’ Donald says. ‘You’ll feel better in the morning.’ It’s as much sympathy as he can muster. Somehow Gladstone in this mood is even more annoying than Gladstone in his regular mood. He doesn’t even know what a real problem _is_ , but every negative emotion has to be a crisis. At least until he finds another twenty dollars and forgets about it.

Gladstone looks back through the door, into warmth and light and the excited sounds of Dewey re-enacting an adventure. ‘No one’s in bed yet.’

Donald shrugs. ‘It’s a better idea than moping. Or freezing.’

‘Yeah.’ Gladstone buries his beak in his arms. ‘Guess I’d still be out of everybody’s way.’

‘ _I’m_ the only one here who doesn’t like you,’ Donald snaps, because most of the family seems to enjoy Gladstone’s company more than Donald can really understand. It’s not as if he’s being ostracised. On the other hand, Donald realises, he’s the only one who came out here. He sits down on the edge of the porch, dangling his own legs over the edge, webbed feet skimming grass silvered with dew.

‘You and the kids,’ Gladstone mutters.

‘You put them in danger,’ Donald says, even though that’s not why the kids are mad at Gladstone at all. Maybe it’s why he deserves them to be. Donald’s expecting an argument but Gladstone just huddles up more, feathers fluffing against the cold. He’d been there for Donald when Huey, Dewey and Louie hatched, in his way. Help from Gladstone tended to consist of him being around and vaguely hoping for good things for you and it was… annoying that it _worked_ , when Donald has to help people by actually doing things, but it _was_ help. Donald pats Gladstone’s shoulder. ‘Just apologise.’

‘Right,’ Gladstone sounds unconvinced. ‘I guess I knew it wouldn’t last. Most people don’t like me for that long.’

‘That’s because you’re a pain in the tailfeathers,’ Donald says. ‘And because you won’t even put in the effort to say “sorry”.’

‘Hey!’ Gladstone says, uncurling indignantly and meeting Donald’s eyes for the first time. ‘I _said_ I’d apologise.’

‘Well, good.’ Donald put a hand on Gladstone’s shoulder to push himself to his feet. ‘I’m gonna see if there’s any coffee left.’ He pauses in the doorway, because it _is_ cold out here. ‘Want me to bring you one?’

Gladstone waves him off. ‘No, thanks. I’ll be in in a minute.’

 _Good_ , thinks Donald, and goes to find that coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're not the best at communication.


	4. Screams in the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A spooky story about young Gladstone making a wish with potentially unnerving consequences.

They’d been sympathetic the day Gladstone came to live on Grandma’s farm, as orphaned as they were. Donald had held back a bit, rivalry already established from Thanksgivings and Christmases and summer vacations, unsure how to approach when he wanted to be kind. Della, always more open, had taken the lead.

‘I’m sorry, Gladdy. I know it’s hard, our parents are dead too.’

Gladstone had tipped his beak up, ignoring the tears still dripping from it. ‘That’s _different_. You’re ordinary. Things like that aren’t supposed to happen to _me_.’

Donald had tried to hit him, but slipped and fallen in a mud puddle. Della had dragged him away before he could try again.

‘Try to cut him some slack,’ she said, later.

Donald buried his head under his pillow. ‘He’s just so…’ He couldn’t think of any words and just made angry quacking sounds until Della got the message.

‘Yeah,’ said Della, settling down in her own bed. ‘I know.’

Thunder woke Donald later that night. Della, who could sleep through a hurricane, was still curled into her covers and snoring. Donald slipped out of bed and padded to the window. Things were screeching out there. Probably just animals disturbed by the storm, but some of them sounded disconcertingly like screams, and through the rain every tree looked like a twisted figure.

The flash of lighting sent him across the room, diving under his covers with his tail feathers sticking out until it passed and his beak cautiously emerged from under the cover. He warily stepped down onto the floor, bundling his blanket around him for comfort more than warmth, and decided he was going to find Grandma.

The house creaked around him. It always did, it was an old farmhouse, but with thunder making him jumpy it felt malevolent tonight, as if the pat of his feet were someone else following him. He was about to reach the stairs when he heard snuffling whimpers from behind a closed door. His first thought, which sent him bolting for the stairs, tripping on his blanket and just catching himself on the newel post, was _ghosts_. His second, more rational, thought was, _Gladstone_.

Donald pushed open the door and was greeting by a shriek. ‘It’s me,’ he said.

‘D-Donald?’ Gladstone’s bed was in the corner of the room, and Gladstone was in the corner of his bed, pushed back as far as he could get as if he needed a solid wall behind him.

‘It’s just a storm,’ Donald said, as if his own hands weren’t shaking under his blanket.

‘Something’s screaming.’

‘Anima —’ But then the wailing scream from outside came again and Donald fled across the room and scrambled onto Gladstone’s bed before his brain caught up with him. He looked down sheepishly, as lightning flashed again. ‘Animals.’

Gladstone shook his head rapidly, pulling Donald back into his corner with him. ‘You d-don’t understand. I wished for my parents back, but then the screaming started and I d-didn’t mean it. Not like that, not like _that_.’

‘You —’ Thunder interrupted Donald and both ducklings cowered, clinging to each other in their nest of blankets. Something creaked in the farmhouse below them.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to _do_ ,’ Gladstone whimpered.

‘Can’t you unwish it?’ Donald asked desperately.

‘I’ve tried, but it won’t stop, and… shhhhh.’

They fell silent at the sound of webbed footsteps in the hall. Something scraped across the window, a drawn out sound like nails on the glass. Donald shoved Gladstone back behind him and tried to think of Uncle Scrooge, who had fought ghosts and zombies and probably vampires and ghouls. It was going to be so awful if it was Aunt Daphne or Uncle Goostave out there. If it was he might just die of awfulness.

The door started to creak open and Donald screamed, closing his eyes and flinging himself at whatever horror was standing there.

‘Oof,’ said Della’s voice. ‘Donald?’

‘Della!’ he dragged her in and slammed the door shut behind her, pulling her up onto the bed. ‘There could be ghosts or zombies out there.’

‘What? It’s just a storm.’ The screaming started and the slow scrape against the glass and Della hastily pulled her feet up on the bed.

‘It’s not,’ said Gladstone, low and breathless. ‘I wished for my parents to come back. And then it s-started.’

Della took a deep breath. Donald could feel her shaking through his grip on her wrist, but her voice was confident. ‘I don’t believe that would work, even for you, Gladdy.’ She pulled free of Donald and stood up. ‘And I’m not going to sit around _wondering_.’ She ran across and threw back the curtain.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the tree branch scraping the window. All three of them breathed a sigh of relief, Della gripping the windowsill when her shaking legs threatened to fail.

Then the door opened, the dark figure of an adult duck standing in it a blur to their lightning-blind eyes. Della screamed and threw herself back onto the bed, but resisted when Donald scrambled to get her behind him, determined to remain at his side. They both stared, terrified and ready to fight, before the blur resolved itself into Grandma.

‘Are you young ones all right?’ Grandma asked, seeing the huddle of children on the bed. ‘It’s a horrible storm, isn’t it? And those foxes are going at it.’

‘F-foxes?’ asked Donald, slipping off the bed and running over to cling to her bathrobe.

‘All that screaming,’ she said, patting his head. ‘It sounds awful, doesn’t it?’ The other two had come to cling to her now, as well, all of them quiet and teary with relief. ‘I think this calls for some hot cocoa,’ she said. ‘Want some?’

They all nodded and followed her downstairs, but fell asleep before they’d finished drinking it.

No one ever did come back from the dead due to that wish, as ghosts or zombies or otherwise. No one talked about Gladstone’s wish after that night, either. It was the first time the possibilities his luck brought had been _unnerving_ rather than _annoying_ and none of them wanted to think about that too much. Least of all him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!


	5. Test Your Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Della wants Gladstone to play a game with her.

‘Hey, Gladdy, come play baccarrat with me.’

Gladstone opens one eye lazily and turns slightly in the hammock. ‘You sure you want to play a game of chance with me, Dee-dee?’

‘I’m bored,’ says Della. ‘And you’ve got to lose sometime.’

‘I never lose.’ He’s going to have to back that up, though, so he follows her down where she’s got a folding table out in the garden, with a set of cards and a pile of jewellery resting on it. He whistles. ‘Uncle Scrooge know you’ve got that hanging around out here?’

She grins, fidgeting with a ruby ring and then slipping it on. ‘I won’t tell him if you don’t.’

The fidgeting continues while they play, the ruby ring getting replaced with a necklace between rounds, then an earring she fiddles onto her goggles’ strap. It’s when a necklace pendant intricately shaped out of gold wire replaces that that Gladstone gets suspicious.

‘Hey, Dell?’ She looks up at him and he grabs the pad where she’s been keeping score. His name’s there, but instead of her name is “Ring of S”, “E necklace”, “Earring” and “Hex pendant”. ‘Those are _luck charms?_ That’s…. not fair.’

‘You still won,’ Della says. ‘Can you really talk about fair?’

‘I don’t mean the game.’ He flips back a few pages, to where both players names are replaced by the names of the charms. Looks like “Hex pendant” is winning. ‘Are you studying me?’

She grins, a little sheepish, a little pleased with herself. ‘You’ve got to admit, you’re at least as weird as any of the stuff we find on adventures.’

He tips his beak in the air and says, ‘I’m _unique_ ,’ because what else is there to say to that? ‘I’m also not a test subject.’

‘Okay, okay. Sure you won’t let me finish?’

‘Definitely not.’

She really does take after Uncle Scrooge, Gladstone thinks wryly, settling back into his hammock. They’re both remarkable ducks and sometimes he envies Donald his position as the third person on their adventures. Sometimes he very much doesn’t.


	6. In Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some bandits think threatening Louie in front of Gladstone is a good idea and find out why it isn't.

‘Tell us where Scrooge McDuck is.’ The leader of the bandits, a coyote, was advancing on Louie, knife drawn.

‘I don’t know!’ Louie shouted. ‘We got lost in the cave system, that’s why we’re not with him! I don’t — I don’t _know_.’

The coyote pulled out a knife and spun it in his hand, making a swirl of red as it caught the firelight. The bandits holding Louie in place tightened their grip in anticipation of him flinching away.

Gladstone pushed helplessly against the iron bars he was stuck behind. ‘Hey, stop! He’s just a kid!’

The knife’s downstroke brushed Louie’s cheek, shaved feathers floating down around him, looking like sparks as they caught the firelight. The tears in his eyes looked like sparks, too, as did the eyes of the bandits further from the fire. The world outside this one cave might as well not exist. Gladstone wasn’t even sure where the entrance to it had been, now that it was lost in the gloom.

‘Next time it’s gonna be blood, kid,’ the coyote said.

Gladstone hissed and shoved at the bars again. Where was his luck when he needed it? Maybe keeping him from fighting when he could only get hurt, after all it kept _him_ safe, not anyone else. There were ways around that, but… ‘I said stop!’

Louie was crying now. ‘I don’t know! I don’t know! Probably looking for me, probably.’

‘Not good enough.’ The knife was swinging down almost lazily.

Gladstone smacked the bars one last time in frustration and yelled, ‘I wish you’d all just DIE.’

The ground rumbled. The ceiling rumbled, rocks starting to shake loose. The bandits were frozen, staring upward, then those glowing eyes all turned, for the first time, to Gladstone.

‘It’s a trick,’ said one, a cave swallow.

Gladstone stood up straight and puffed out his chest. ‘Nope. I’m just a really lucky guy.’

The rocks started to fall a second later.

Somewhere Louie screamed and Gladstone threw himself at the bars again just as the rock they’d been held in place by came loose. He shoved his way through panicking bandits, trying to ignore those already trapped under rocks. His luck would protect him from the consequences of this, but he wasn’t sure about Louie.

‘Lou! Where are you, kid?’

‘Uncle Gladstone! Help!’

He ran towards that voice until he bumped into something small and feathery. Then he dropped to his knees and pulled Louie against him, trying to make it impossible for anything to hit him without hitting Gladstone first. Around them rocks the size of cars were hitting the shaking floor. It felt like it went on forever.

Finally Gladstone looked up. In the light of the smouldering fire he could see what was left of the bandits. He’d never even seen anyone die before, let alone killed them. It was… really messy, actually. Huh. He stood, picking Louie up as he did, and covered the boy’s eyes with one hand.

‘I’m not a baby,’ Louie said, quietly.

‘Yeah, but it’s pretty bad. I don’t really want, uh… hey, I think I see the way out.’ There was one path through the fallen rocks which was almost empty and oddly straight. Gladstone didn’t even question that it would lead to the exit.

Once they were out of that cave Gladstone took his hand away from Louie’s eyes. Not that it made much difference since the bandits had taken their flashlights.

‘What do we do now?’ Louie asked, voice tiny in the huge caverns.

‘Just keep walking until we run into them.’

‘That didn’t work so well last time.’

‘Sorry, Green Bean, it’s all I’ve got.’ Gladstone pulled Louie a little closer. Things always worked out for _him_ sooner or later, so nothing bad could happen to someone he was holding. Right? Right.

‘Couldn’t you wish?’

‘Too much like work.’ The glib response rose to Gladstone’s beak out of habit. Louie’s deafening silence in response made him continue. ‘You really want me to make another wish after _that?_ ’

‘You wouldn’t be wishing for anything dangerous.’

‘Something might happen that made us run away, so we’d run into them. Or something bad might happen to them, so they run into us. Ugh, I hate having to think about consequences.’ Consequences like too many bodies under rubble, and he wasn’t sure he was sorry, but he definitely felt… something. It was a bit like wanting to cry or throw up, but whatever it was it could wait.

‘LOUIE! GLADSTONE!’ Donald’s voice from up ahead, proving conclusively that ducks do echo, made them both perk up.

‘Don!’ ‘Uncle Donald!’

‘Stay there lads!’ Scrooge shouted, then there was an echoing patter of feet and the whole family was around them. Louie instantly squirmed down and ran to throw his arms around Donald, where he promptly buried his head in Donald’s stomach and burst into tears.

‘Louie? Are you hurt? What happened to you?’ Donald was stroking Louie’s head, but he levelled an accusing gaze at Gladstone over it.

Louie must have somehow guessed at that, because he said, ‘It’s not Uncle Gladstone’s fault, he saved me, but there were a lot of bandits and an earthquake and they’re all dead, I was s-scared. I’m - I’m all right.’

Donald knelt down to properly hug Louie, Louie’s brothers and Webby quickly gathering around to do the same, but the look he was shooting Gladstone softened considerably. ‘Are _you_ all right? You’ve never hurt anyone before.’

‘Me? Just fine.’ Gladstone held out his arms and tried to ignore the strangely light-headed feeling that was catching up with him. ‘Not a scratch on me. Woah.’

Scrooge’s hand on his shoulder steadied him. ‘Sit down lad, before ye fall down.’ Not bad advice and Gladstone slid down to sit against one wall of the rock passage.

‘What do we do now, Uncle Scrooge?’ That was Huey, with the most deeply concerned look Gladstone had ever seen on him, and he’d been practicing concerned looks since he was a bundle of fluff.

‘Think we’d better head back,’ said Scrooge. ‘The caves might not be too stable now, and the treasure can wait.’

‘Good,’ said Donald. He checked Louie was safely surrounded by siblings and came to give Gladstone a hand up. ‘Thank you,’ he said, quietly. ‘For bringing him back safely.’

‘No problem,’ Gladstone said. ‘I wouldn’t let Lou get hurt.’

Donald smiled slightly. ‘Yeah. I know.’


	7. Aftershocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladstone deals with shock of having used his luck to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This follows on straight from the last chapter because Gladstone needed a hug and I needed self-indulgent hurt/comfort.

When Gladstone stepped off the plane there was a twenty dollar bill on the ground waiting for him. It was like seeing an attack dog he’d just used to rip someone limb from limb run up to him, tail wagging, with a stick in its mouth. He stepped back until the smooth, cold side of the plane brought him up short. What, did he think his luck would stop? That a blind force might be shocked by what he’d done with it? He hadn’t thought twice about relying on it in the caves, even after it had granted his wish. Why did this feel so wrong?

‘Hey, twenty dollars,’ he said, voice brittle, and scooped it up to shove in his pocket. ‘Well, that was quite a day. Not exactly what I thought I was signing up for when I said I’d come along, in fact, I’m worn out, going to get some rest. See ya.’

As soon as he had his back to the rest of his family he clamped one hand around his beak, holding in hysterical giggles until he reached his room. He flopped down full length on the bed, pulled the pillow over his head and laughed. When the giggles had died down to snuffles he sat up and pulled the crumpled twenty dollar bill out of his pocket.

‘Don’t you think it’s a bit much?’ he said, smoothing it out against his knees. ‘I know you’re always _there_ but maybe I could have done with a break…’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘Or maybe I don’t deserve…’ Didn’t deserve his luck? Didn’t deserve a break from it? Heck if he knew, like introspection had ever been his strong point. Like it made a difference anyway, moral or immoral, his luck just _was_.

He’d never lashed out like that before.

He’d never needed to. Threats to him would be negated without him even needing to think about it. He seldom wished for anything, let alone something that could hurt someone. If his luck had been working on its own, if he’d been the one in trouble, it would almost certainly have done something less drastic. If he’d been thinking straight he’d probably have wished for something less drastic.

He couldn’t say he didn’t mean it. He’d known exactly what he was doing.

He took a sharp breath, clamping his beak on it before it could come back as a sob, and let it hiss out slowly between his teeth.

Someone tapped on the door. ‘Hey, Gladstone? Can I come in?’

‘Oh, hey, Don.’ Ugh, he was in a pretty sorry state, but at least it wouldn’t be like falling apart in front of the kids. Not being alone sounded pretty good. ‘Sure. How’s Lou?’

‘A bit shaken up, but he’ll be fine.’ Donald pattered across the carpet and sat down on the bed next to Gladstone. ‘What about you?’

‘I dunno. What about the others? I guess people don’t usually die on your adventures.’

‘The kids don’t usually come that close to getting killed, either,’ Donald said, somberly. ‘Everyone’s upset. Except Webby. She’s excited and thinks you have superpowers.’

Gladstone started laughing properly. ‘I dunno about superpowers,’ he said. ‘I feel more like a horror movie protagonist. Powers that shouldn’t exist and then BAM it all goes out of control and they die in the finale.’

‘You’re not dying,’ said Donald, firmly. ‘And nothing’s out of control.’

‘It’s always out of control.’ He waved the twenty dollars at Donald. ‘I didn’t _ask_ for this.’

‘That doesn’t hurt anyone.’

‘But I did.’ The laughter was tailing off into sobs and this time he couldn’t rein them in. ‘I’m pretty sure no one should be able to do what I did.’

Donald shifted closer and wrapped an arm around him. ‘If I had that kind of power a lot more people would by dead by now.’

‘You? You’re one of the good guys.’

‘I get angry.’

‘But your wishes _don’t_ come true.’ Gladstone half collapsed onto Donald, burying his face in Donald’s shoulder. Poor Don was going to wind up with soaked feathers if he didn’t stop crying. ‘It’s… unnatural.’

‘It doesn’t seem that strange to me,’ said Donald.

‘…Really?’

‘Maybe I’m just used to having you around.’

Donald’s always treated Gladstone’s luck as an irritation or an obstacle, or even a commodity, asking Gladstone to lend a little luck like it’s a cup of sugar. Maybe that’s why he’s so reassuring, that utterly prosaic reaction. Maybe that’s why Duckburg’s home, in the end. Gladstone’s always been better at first impressions, his luck sees to those, and for a while it’s a novelty, a draw. To the people in Duckburg that stage passed before he was even an adult and he’s mostly a pest they want to shoo away from raffles. It’s _normal,_ though. Ordinary.

‘D’you think Uncle Scrooge would let me stay here for a bit?’

‘He let the rest of us stay,’ said Donald. ‘So I’m sure he won’t mind one more.’


	8. Grandma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard raising a gosling the universe seems out to spoil.

Daphne had been a lucky child. Careless, thoughtless, almost reckless, not like someone who sought adventure but like someone unaware of the possibility of pain. A child who had learned, not that fire burned, but that candles would go out before she could stick her fingers in them. She had also been a curious child, lively and loving. If her luck took care of her, she still learnt to take care of others. Luck meant she never pricked her fingers on her needle, but it wasn’t luck that sewed her father’s shirts.

Now Daphne’s luck has comprehensively run out and Elvira has her son to raise.

In Gladstone the luck and the dependence on it seem to have intensified together. Is it stronger in him? Does it seem that way because he never tries to solve anything himself? Impetuous Donald and reckless Della are the ones perpetually getting themselves into scrapes, but it’s Gladstone who worries her most. The child who doesn’t study because he’ll guess the answers on the test. The child she can’t give chores to, because if she sets him to raking autumn leaves the wind will somehow blow them into a pile.

She’d tried banning it, telling him to do his chores himself. Even punishing him when he didn’t. But he’d shouted at her that it wasn’t his fault, it just _happened_ and run off in tears. She’d found him curled up behind the barn, still crying, and apologised, pulling him onto her lap to comfort him. She’d had to accept it — the child had no more control than she did over a universe intent on spoiling him.

It frightens her to see him drifting through life on his own strange magic, barely seeming to live in the same world as the rest of them sometimes. She fears losing him altogether, watching him disappear inside his world of chance and thoughtlessness.

She fears what will become of him if his luck runs out.


	9. Adult Enough (To Buy Age-Restricted Medicine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donald is sick. Gladstone is helpful.

It began when Uncle Donald was too sick to get out of bed, or even wake up properly. He’d called Huey "Della" when he tried to rouse him and mumbled something about school. Talking of which…

‘We can’t just go to school and leave him,’ Huey said, leaning over the breakfast table towards his brothers.

‘So we don’t,’ said Louie. ‘We can skip school.’ Dewey nodded emphatically.

‘Okay,’ said Huey. ‘I’ll look up how to treat fevers in the guide book, you guys go and buy some medicine.’

Huey was making a cold compress when they returned, Dewey glaring and kicking at nothing. ‘Medicine was age-restricted,’ he said. ‘ _And_ someone asked if we should be in school.’

‘We need to call someone,’ said Louie.

Huey pulled out his phone and they all looked at it. There was a very limited supply of “someones” in their lives. Huey picked the most likely one out of the menu and hoped he was at least in the country.

‘Hi, Gladstone Gander here.’

‘Hi, Uncle Gladstone. Are you near Duckburg? Or at least in this part of the world?’

‘Yeah,’ said Gladstone, voice picking up out of its lazy drawl. ‘Luckily, I’m pretty close. You need me?’

‘Uncle Donald’s really sick. He’s not waking up properly and we can’t even get medicine because it’s age-restricted.’

Gladstone whistled through the phone. ‘Sounds like a problem to me. I’ll be… a few hours. You beans can hold out that long, right?’

‘Of course we can. I’ve got the Junior Woodchucks Guidebook.’

‘Right, right. See you later, alligator.’

Huey put his phone back in his pocket. ‘He’s coming.’

* * *

Louie was leaning on the boathouse railing when Gladstone arrived. Huey had started trying to make soup for lunch, on the basis it would be good for Uncle Donald and also cheap and easy for them to eat. But maybe there was more to soup than putting food in water, because Louie was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to smell like that.

The car that screeched to a halt at the end of the dock wasn’t familiar, but Uncle Gladstone never had the same car for long. It was way too expensive to be here, which was all the clue Louie needed.

‘Uncle Gladstone,’ he shouted, racing down the gangplank.

Gladstone got out of the car in time to catch him and pick him up. ‘Woah there, Green Bean. You get bigger every time I look at you.’ He put Louie down and ruffled his hair. ‘How are you holding up?’

‘Eh. Huey’s trying to make soup, so lunch looks like a loss,’ he said.

Gladstone chuckled. ‘Forget that, we can get pizza. Now, take me to the patient.’

They were on their way when a sudden shout of, ‘I’m DEWEY. DEWEY,’ came from Uncle Donald’s bedroom followed by Dewey running out of it and slamming the door.

‘Woah. Rough day?’ Gladstone asked.

Huey poked his head in from the kitchen. ‘Did he call you “Della” too?’

Dewey shook his head. ‘No, that would have been weird, but… he keeps thinking I’m one of _you_.’ He scrubbed a hand across his eyes. ‘Someone else can try to get him to drink.’

Louie glanced up at his uncle. Gladstone looked as worried as he felt, but tried to smile when he saw him looking. ‘I’ll give it a go, then medicine, right? Make a shopping list.’

Louie made the shopping list in the kitchen so Huey could add items. ‘Don’t worry about budget,’ he said. ‘Gladstone’s paying.’ He tapped the pen on his beak. ‘We could probably add blankets. We need some new ones, right?’

‘We don’t need them especially for this,’ said Huey.

‘Yeah, but he won’t mind. He’s got money.’

Angry quacking from the bedroom was followed by the emergence of Gladstone. ‘Well, he recognised _me_ ,’ he said, sounding amused and smug. ‘And he’s well enough to be ungrateful for a favour.’

‘Okay, I’ve made…’ Louie began.

Gladstone sniffed and wrinkled his beak. ‘Jeez, don’t feed him that,’ he said, stepping over to the stove. ‘I’ll buy soup.’

Huey looked indignant and then, perhaps realising that would have been his lunch too, decided not to say anything and turned off the stove.

* * *

Dewey ran after Gladstone as he left the boat. ‘I’m coming with you,’ he said. He just had to get off the boat for a bit.

‘Okay, sure,’ Gladstone said.

Dewey wasn’t sure whether to regret that when he found himself carrying everything. ‘Did Louie really put all this on the list?’ he asked.

‘Pfft, yep. He knows how to press an advantage.’ Gladstone reached over the counter and picked up a bunch of scratch cards. ‘Hold onto that, I’ve got to win us some money before I can pay for it.’

Dewey tapped his feet impatiently, beak resting on an armful of blankets. The cashier handed Gladstone a pile of cash and then accepted half of it back for their purchases without seeming interested at all.

‘Okay, pizzas and home,’ Gladstone said, watching Dewey load their shopping into his car. He riffled through the money in his hands. ‘Want to buy some movies? The afternoon’s going to be pretty boring if we’re just waiting for D-squared to get better. Bet you guys don’t have netflix, either.’

‘Yes!’ said Dewey, deciding coming had been a good idea after all. It meant he’d get to choose the movies.

* * *

Donald woke that evening with a vague memory of one of his boys feeding him soup. It frightened him that he couldn’t be sure which one. Had he been asleep all day? Had they gone to school? Had they eaten? Had they caused any disasters or injured themselves?

He sat up quickly, then doubled over and held his head until he felt less dizzy. Once he’d blinked his vision back into focus he looked around his room. Damp towels strewn around, empty soup bowl, glass of water. Gladstone curled up asleep in the corner and snoring softly. Donald snorted. Probably the idea had been to stay awake and watch over him. Points for trying.

Donald got up and kicked him, fairly gently, awake.

‘Huh? Hey, cuz.’ Gladstone sleepily rubbed his eyes and sat up. ‘Feeling better?’

‘Are the kids okay?’

‘Of course. I sent ‘em to bed. Seriously, Don, I’ve looked after them before.’

‘They were smaller then. And less trouble.’ Donald backed up so he could sit down on the bed again and drank some water. ‘They haven’t been to school, have they?’

‘Nope.’

Donald sighed. They shouldn’t miss school just because _he_ was sick. It wasn’t supposed to work like that. ‘You should have sent them in.’

‘Oh, come on. Missing one day won’t hurt. They’re safe, fed, there were even vegetables. What more do you want?’

‘You’re so irresponsible,’ Donald muttered.

‘Hey, I’ve taken on more responsibility today than I have all year.’

‘Don’t I know it.’ Donald shook his head. ‘Go and get some sleep somewhere more comfortable.’

‘Don’t have to tell me twice,’ Gladstone said, ambling off. ‘Night, Don.’

* * *

It ended with Gladstone dropping them off at school because Louie wanted to impress the other kids with his new car.

‘Hey,’ Gladstone said, as they got out. ‘Which of you forgot your lunch?’

Huey looked back. ‘Uncle Donald packed one for you as well,’ he said.

‘Come and visit again soon,’ Louie said.

‘Yeah. With more movies,’ Dewey added.

‘Next time I get to pick, though,’ Louie said.

‘I’ll see you around,’ Gladstone answered. He didn’t have any plans, but then he never did. There was bound to be a chance to see them again later.

Then they were heading into school and he was already heading out of Duckburg, thinking about finding a plane ticket to somewhere exotic.


	10. How To Talk To Geese At Parties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chicken university student attends a party on a yacht and meets the goose hosting it.

_Katie: Do you want to go to a party on a yacht tonight?_  
_Serena: Who do you know that owns a yacht?_  
_Katie: No one._  
_Katie: But there’s some goose holding a party tonight and you don’t need an invitation._  
_Katie: It’s on facebook._  
_Serena: He’s invited the whole internet to a party on a yacht?_  
_Serena: It’s going to be a disaster._  
_Katie: But a disaster with free booze._  
_Serena: Great._  
_Serena: When the ship sinks we can be too drunk to swim._  
_Katie: And free food._  
_Katie: It’ll be fun!_

Serena looked away from the phone, rubbed a hand across her beak, and groaned. If Katie was going she’d _better_ go. Besides, she was a student. Free food had a powerful allure.

_Serena: I’ll come if you’re going.  
Katie: Great! Pick you up at six._

Which was how Serena found herself staring up at a yacht that appeared to be _gold plated,_ listening to the buzz of chatter and laughter from those already aboard.

‘This whole thing is weird,’ she said. ‘Who holds a party like this? Doesn’t he have his own friends to invite?’

‘Maybe it’s charity to starving students?’ said Katie. Her ears were perked and the back of her dress was rippling slightly where her tail was wagging.

‘Unlikely,’ said Serena.

‘Maybe he just wanted an audience that would be easily impressed, then?’ said Katie, cheerfully. ‘I don’t care. It doesn’t sound like a disaster, so stop worrying and let’s go.’

‘That’s one of the weird things,’ muttered Serena, following.

It was a nice party. Nice food, nice wine, a surprising lack of people offering drugs or wrecking things, which is what Serena would, somewhat cynically, expect from an open invitation. She even had a few dances with a nice rooster before retiring to the buffet to grab a snack and try to see where Katie had got to.

‘Hey, chick. Enjoying yourself?’ The speaker was a goose, although probably not 100% goose, there was something ducky about the head and beak.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, coolly. ‘Are you the host?’

‘That’s me. Gladstone Gander.’

‘Serena Sebright,’ she said, shaking hands. ‘Thank you for… inviting me. And everyone.’

He smiled at her. ‘If you weren’t someone I’d want at a party you wouldn’t have seen the invitation.’

‘My friend saw it, actually.’ Serena hesitated. ‘I’m assuming you don’t mean you hacked computers or cast a spell.’

‘Both of those things sound like way too much work. I’m just _really_ lucky.’

Serena looked out at the well-behaved party. ‘Evidently,’ she said. And then, perhaps due to years of looking out for Katie, she added, ‘You shouldn’t rely on it, though.’

‘That’s what my uncle says, but why not? It always works.’

‘Always?’

He leant back against the ship railing a little, beak canted up at an angle, and Serena knew that pose well enough to realise she’d let herself in for some guy bragging to her. ‘How much do you think this party cost me?’

‘I don’t know. At least a few thousand.’

‘Nothing!’ He grinned at her like he’d just done a magic trick. ‘Found the booze floating in the harbour, fortunately there was a fishing net on board.’

‘Doesn’t it belong to someone, then?’

He shrugged. ‘Probably not anyone who expects to get it back. Isn’t it salvage laws or something?’

‘Or something,’ said Serena, dryly. ‘What about the food?’

‘It was going to be for a wedding but the bride ran off and her parents cancelled the order. The caterers were glad to have someone take it off their hands.’

And what would they have done with it otherwise? Serena wondered. Taken it to a homeless shelter? Or was she being optimistic and it would have wound up in the trash? She wondered what had happened to the bride. Or the boat the wine had been on. Maybe nothing bad. Maybe the boat had dropped a crate, maybe the girl had wanted to run away all along. Still, luck like that was a bit creepy. ‘So things just happen to benefit you?’ she asked.

‘Sure. Luckiest guy in the world!’ He was so proud of it, while she was suddenly feeling chilled.

‘Hey!’ Katie ran up and threw an arm around her. ‘I was looking for you. But I see you found a cute guy.’

Serena rolled her eyes. ‘This is our host, Gladstone Gander,’ she said. ‘Gladstone, Katie Kofarn.’

‘Charmed,’ he said.

‘And we should really be going,’ Serena added, steering Katie away. Gladstone’s expression fell slightly, for a moment he looked baffled and almost hurt, and Serena realised how protective her posture was. She straightened up and gave him a wave and a smile, trying to soften it. He flicked his hand at her, more dismissive than friendly, and turned to talk to someone else.

‘What’s wrong?’ said Katie, apparently not too drunk to notice her friend’s confusion.

‘I don’t know,’ said Serena. ‘You know how sometimes you get the creeps for no reason?’

‘Goose walking over your grave,’ said Katie wisely.

‘ _Don’t,_ ’ hissed Serena, looking behind her. ‘That’s rude.’

‘Or you’re just being chicken,’ Katie added.

Serena let herself giggle at that one. It was okay if it was about her.


	11. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble about Gladstone, Christmas and games.

‘Hey, Uncle Gladstone, play this with me?’

Gladstone looked down into the huge, bright eyes of eight-year-old Louie. The duckling was waving one of his Christmas presents, some brightly coloured dice game, at him.

‘Sorry, kiddo, but aren’t I banned from playing against you squirts?’ he said.

‘That’s okay,’ said Louie, matter of factly. ‘I’m going to cheat.’

Gladstone swallowed a chuckle and bent down with one hand to his beak. ‘If that worked,’ he stage whispered. ‘Your Uncle Donald would have been a lot less frustrated over the years.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ Donald called from the kitchen.


End file.
